He hadn't expected to see her here. Not tonight. Not like this.
When she walked past, the air shifted.
He felt it before he saw her — that same quiet pull he hadn't felt since that day.
The parcel slipped from his hand, almost on instinct. And when her fingers brushed his...
It was like time bent.
Her eyes.
Still wide. Still wondering.
Still the same girl he had hidden behind the carved wooden door of the palace — breathless, curious, a little reckless.
He'd watched her for a heartbeat too long, afraid to blink and lose her again.
And when she looked back — really looked — he saw it.
Recognition.
The veil of forgetfulness lifting from her face.
And Veer...
He didn't speak. Didn't move.
He just let the corner of his mouth lift — that quiet smile he'd kept only for her, all these years.
The smile that said: You remember me now, don't you?
Veer sat at the edge of his seat, staring down at the parcel in his hand long after Aaradhya had walked away.
He hadn't meant to drop it. He wasn't even sure he'd been holding anything in the first place.
His fingers trembled slightly — not from nerves, but from something deeper. Something he didn't have a name for yet.
That touch. That accidental brush of her skin against his.
It had done something.
Everything around him felt slower now. The voices, the clinking glasses, even the laughter — like a soundtrack fading out in the middle of a movie. He couldn't hear what his friend was saying anymore. He couldn't even pretend to care.
He watched her walk away. Every step she took felt like a thread tugging at the inside of his chest. And it wasn't just attraction. It wasn't even memory.
It was recognition. As if something inside him knew her far beyond the way stories let you know someone.
And worse — there was this pressure in his head, as if his thoughts were being pulled toward a wall he couldn't see. A wall just outside his reach. Something that told him this wasn't how things were supposed to go.
He was supposed to say something.
He was supposed to do something.
But the words felt glued to his tongue. As if the moment wasn't entirely in his control. Like someone else had decided he'd just watch her go.
And that was the scariest part.
Because Veer had never just watched.
He clenched his jaw and looked down at his hands.
They felt real. His breath fogged slightly against the cold-water glass in front of him. His legs ached from sitting too long.
But something was wrong.
And the worst part?
He didn't remember walking into the restaurant.
Evening had rolled in softly over Jaipur, golden sun casting long shadows through the tall glass windows of the Maheshwari showroom.
Veer stood behind the carved teak counter, his sleeves rolled up, pen tucked behind his ear, nodding along as his uncle explained the latest inventory report. Words floated past him like wind—dates, margins, restock schedules—but none of it landed. His eyes kept flickering toward the door. The city outside. The world he should've already been walking through.
He'd finished college hours ago. Normally, he'd stay to help—he always did. But today...
Today he needed to go.
Go somewhere—he didn't know where, but it felt urgent, like a pull inside his chest growing tighter by the second.
He grabbed his phone, checked it again. No messages. No missed calls. No excuse.
But he knew, with a certainty he couldn't explain, that she was out there somewhere. Aaradhya. And he needed to see her again. Not tomorrow. Not later. Now.
"Veer beta, did you hear me?" his uncle called from behind the desk.
"Hm?" Veer blinked. "Yeah, yeah—I'll check the stockroom in a bit."
His feet moved toward the exit. One step. Then another.
And then—he stopped.
Like hitting an invisible wall.
His body didn't respond. His hand wouldn't push the door open.
His breath caught. He tried again—forcing one leg forward, trying to will his muscles to obey—but it was like his bones had turned to stone. Something inside him resisted. Not the world. Him. As if some part of him didn't belong outside that door.
Like he wasn't meant to leave... yet.
A bead of sweat slid down his neck.
He gritted his teeth and whispered, "What the hell is happening to me?"
The city lay just beyond the glass. So real. So close. He could hear the honk of scooters, smell the roasted peanuts from the vendor two shops down.
And yet, it all felt like a photograph taped to a wall.
Unreachable.
Like someone had paused his story mid-chapter.
He clenched his fists.
"Enough," he muttered.
He didn't know who he was talking to.
But somewhere, somewhere deep in his mind, something was stirring. A faint whisper:
You weren't supposed to question this.
But Veer was starting to.